The bright waters of the Narta lagoon mirrored the sky — until a massive white bird soared in from the Adriatic, skimming the surface with its dangling feet. “It’s a Dalmatian pelican,” my guide, Julian Hoffman, said.
It was my first time seeing the pelican in the wild, and I laughed with the joy of it. My introduction to the bird had come through a print by Edward Lear, the 19th-century naturalist and painter, that hung in my grandparents’ house. With its exaggerated bill and cap of fluffy feathers, it looked like a happy-go-lucky cartoon character to my childhood self — except for its eyes, which seemed sorrowful and questioning.
The pelican slowed to a splashy stop. Soon it was joined by other birds: greater flamingos, gray herons, Eurasian spoonbills, a flock of little egrets. The creatures preened and fished, squawked and chortled.
Mr. Hoffman and I were walking a sandy road in southwestern Albania, between the sparkling radiance of the Adriatic Sea and the Narta lagoon, a place prized by birders for its rich avian diversity. Our destination was a headland that would afford us a view of the 59,000-acre Vjosa River delta, which encompasses the lagoon as well as sand dunes, forests, salt pans and fishing villages. The delta is home to myriad plant and animal species, some of whose populations are dwindling, like the Dalmatian pelican. When Lear made his painting of the bird, the species was already declining because of hunting and habitat loss. Today it’s listed as “near threatened” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature, and in Albania specifically as “critically endangered” by the Ministry of Tourism and Environment — “which is why places like this delta are indispensable to its survival,” Mr. Hoffman said.
I’d traveled to the delta to see a place renowned for its wildness — before its wildness is muted. In 2021, crews broke ground on the Narta lagoon’s northern end to build a new international airport, part of a broader effort to expand tourism in the region. The project continues today, despite opposition from national and international nongovernmental organizations and repeated calls to suspend construction from the Council of Europe’s Convention on the Conservation of European Wildlife and Natural Habitats.
Standing at the headland’s summit, we also stood atop what will become a 1,100-acre luxury resort with 6,000 hotel rooms and villas, if plans by Jared Kushner and his investment firm, Affinity Partners, come to fruition. Architectural renderings of the project show modernist multistory structures built in rows along the lagoon and on the dunes, beaches and headlands, a bustling commercial center, swimming pools, marinas, speedboats, yachts and a cruise ship, a ferry jetting across the lagoon in the direction of the new airport.
Mr. Kushner and his wife, Ivanka Trump, plan a similarly lavish 1,400-acre resort community on an uninhabited island, Sazan, that lies about six miles off the coast from the edge of the lagoon, within a national marine park. The real-estate projects, which represent more than $1 billion worth of potential investments, have stirred resentments among some local landowners who question whether the Albanian government is courting Mr. Kushner in order to curry political favor with his father-in-law, President Trump. Prime Minister Edi Rama of Albania has disputed the claim.
Asher Abehsera, an American real estate executive who is overseeing the projects, wrote in an email that Affinity was drawn to the area for its pristine, natural beauty, its serenity and its proximity to the city of Vlora. “The anticipated new airport will further enhance connectivity, making this exceptional destination even more desirable,” he added.
“We recognize the rich biodiversity and natural landscape in and around the Narta lagoon,” Mr. Abehsera continued. “While parts of the area have historically been impacted by agriculture and human intervention, our master plan is designed to restore and improve ecological conditions.”
A spokesman for Affinity, Jonathan Gasthalter, said that the firm had retained a global sustainable development firm, Arup, as the principal engineering consultant for the project. “Arup is the industry leader and the gold standard for sustainability and environmental protection,” he continued. Ozgur Gungor, a communications leader at Arup, declined to respond to questions about the project.
Extraordinary Biodiversity
Beauty was all around us as Mr. Hoffmann and I crested the headland’s sandy peak. A turquoise cove lay beneath us, beyond which was Sazan Island, surrounded by the wide Adriatic Sea. To the east, small-scale commercial fishermen, hip deep in the lagoon’s waters, retrieved their nets. To the north, miles of undeveloped sand beaches unfurled — among the Mediterranean’s last stretches of wild shoreline. To the distant south was Vlora, Albania’s third largest city.
Research conducted in April 2024 by an interdisciplinary team of scientists demonstrated the Vjosa delta’s extraordinary biodiversity. Supporting some 248 bird species, the delta also shelters loggerhead turtles and one of the world’s most endangered seals, the Mediterranean monk seal, and serves as a critical stopover for millions of birds navigating the Adriatic Flyway, the migratory route between sub-Saharan Africa and Europe. As one of the last few intact river deltas remaining in the Mediterranean Basin, according to another 2024 study, the delta holds unparalleled ecological significance for the Mediterranean Sea and Europe, underpinning the regions’ biodiversity.
When the Vjosa River was declared a national park in March 2023, its delta was excluded from the park’s boundaries. The delta and its lagoon were already protected from major development then, by national laws and international conventions written to shield exceptionally biodiverse areas. But in February 2024, Albania’s parliament granted a committee led by Mr. Rama the authority to approve major tourism infrastructure projects in protected areas. The law was passed three days after Mr. Kushner announced his development plans. Officials from the Prime Minister’s Office and the Ministry of Tourism and Environment did not respond to requests for comment.
“You can see why Kushner chose this spot,” Mr. Hoffman said as we walked the headland. “But you can also see why it’s such an important migratory stopping point.” The birds, he explained, veer north of the city of Vlora and the coastline to its south because those areas no longer provide sufficient habitat — “and they come here, to the delta, where the Vjosa River has deposited layers upon layers of silt and sediment that enable a massive range of birds to find food and shelter.”
A ‘Champion of Tourism’
On Dec. 30, 2024, the Albanian government gave preliminary approval to Affinity’s plans for the island of Sazan. The firm’s proposal for the Narta lagoon has yet to be approved. In Serbia, a separate project spearheaded by Mr. Kushner to build a luxury hotel complex, including towers with the signature “Trump” logo, on the bombed-out site of the former Yugoslavian defense ministry in Belgrade, was approved by the government in May 2024. Last month, thousands of protesters gathered to oppose it.
Building the airport and considering Mr. Kushner’s proposals for development projects in the region are part of a campaign led by Mr. Rama to transform the country into a “champion of tourism.” In 2023, Albania was ranked fourth globally for the largest percentage increase in international tourist arrivals. It was also, in 2024, ranked Europe’s fifth poorest country. After Croatia to the north emerged from its War of Independence, in 1995, it transformed from a nearly undiscovered destination to a travel hot spot — and tourism became a key driver for economic growth; in 2022, Croatia’s economy was among the fastest-growing in the European Union. Luxury tourism might prove to be an economic boon for the Vjosa River delta, too.
But Joni Vorpsi, an ornithologist who works for the nongovernmental group Protection and Preservation of Natural Environment in Albania, believes the cost will be tremendous, both ecologically and economically. His work includes pelican conservation, migration flyways and ecotourism research and initiatives. “Rama is sacrificing the treasures that could create a sustainable tourist economy here — an economy that works for everyone, not just a select few,” he said.
Seasonal resorts fill up in the summertime, straining the infrastructure, Mr. Vorpsi said, and then become “ghost towns” during the off-season.
Plus, he said, the majority of the revenue from the projects will likely flow back to the corporations that own them, not the local people. “Locally owned, nature-based tourism will not only help the birds, it will generate revenue that stays here,” he said.
Mr. Vorpsi and I were walking a meandering wooden boardwalk across the lagoon to St. Mary’s, a 13th-century Byzantine monastery on the island of Zvërnec, to meet with Father Jani Tereziu, the Eastern Orthodox priest who oversees the complex. Mr. Tereziu told us stories about the monastery’s long history — and about the birds, which he described as “a miracle.” When I asked him about the airport and the projects proposed by Mr. Kushner, he said, “The monastery will become a bigger tourist destination, but that’s not its purpose. It will be surrounded by development; the lagoon will be destroyed, and the meaning of this place will be diminished. And for what? For whose advantage?”
A handful of people I met welcomed the projects. The warmhearted young proprietor of our accommodation, the Hotel Beke, between the lagoon and Vlora, said she believed that she and other young entrepreneurs would gain through increased clientele. An elderly woman I met in Narta whose children left Albania to find work abroad said she hopes development will bring employment to the region.
But most of the local residents I spoke to during my week on the delta — waiters, fishermen, shopkeepers, an adventure tour company founder, our rental car agent — echoed the priest’s question: Just who will benefit from the delta’s development? Some people expressed fears of overtourism and of water shortages, or that they would lose their land or access to the lagoon and beaches. Others said that more infrastructure simply meant more government corruption. A woman sitting outside a market in Narta, who identified herself only as Dimitra, told me about her niece who runs a roadside cafe near her village at the edge of Vjosa National Park. “She doesn’t need to lose her culture or her landscape to gain from visitors.”
“We’re not anti-tourism here,” she added. “We’re against tourism that will destroy our land and our traditions.”
The Domino Effect
During my last afternoon on the delta, I drove to an area on the lagoon where local authorities and N.G.O.s had once collaborated to build infrastructure for bird-watching, including observation stands and roadside interpretive signs. The long road to reach it was rutted and potholed; in places it was barely passable. The bar code on the sun-bleached interpretive sign at the reserve’s entrance led to a defunct link. It was as if the intention to create infrastructure for bird-watching and research had been forgotten.
But the birds were still there, feeding and preening on both sides of the causeway. After watching a flock of Dalmatian pelicans forage in the fading light, I continued down the potholed road, windows open to the thrumming of frog song. I knew I’d reached the airport when the road stopped at a tall chain-link fence topped by thick coils of barbed wire. Beyond it, heavy equipment labored through the night, aided by powerful floodlights. Soon, I was speeding along the new road that leads from the airport to the national highway. It was wide and smooth, glistening and acrid with fresh asphalt. Compared to the bird refuge with its dilapidated observation stands, its interpretive signs, faded and defunct, and its rutted, potholed road, this was another world.
The next morning, I woke early to see the delta from the headland one last time. When I reached its peak, I recalled something Mr. Vorpsi had said about the future of this place. “Even if Kushner plans to build green, as he’s promising, the destruction of an irreplaceable ecosystem isn’t green,” he’d told me. The projects, he continued, will have broader ramifications: The wildlife will be disrupted, he said, and the airport will open the doors for more development. “There’ll be a domino effect from the lagoon north, all along this wild stretch of coastline,” he said, “because once one resort is built, why not others?”
I remembered Lear’s painting, the creature’s eyes. Then, a throaty honk brought me back to the morning: In the lagoon beneath me, a single flamingo stepped through the shallow waters; a flock of egrets lifted from the rippling surface, winging their way north.
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